


Coup de Foudre - Love at First Sight

by ElvenSorceress



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Falling In Love, M/M, Romance, Teen Years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 16:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSorceress/pseuds/ElvenSorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if, long before Les Mis, Enjolras and Grantaire had met and fallen in love? aka in which the skeptic is a broken idealist and the lonely soul has a broken heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coup de Foudre - Love at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a little fic called Protege where Gavroche learns that Enjolras was once in love. This is the story of how it happened and how he and Grantaire grew to be the men they are in Les Mis.

~*~*~

The celebration was no different than any of the other gatherings Enjolras has been forced to attend throughout his entire life, but they had long ago expended his patience. 

Hundreds of bottles of wine and various liquors, platters full of sweet and savory delicacies, everyone wearing layers upon layers of fine imported fabrics, paid musicians and entertainment. It was all a wasteful and shameless display of opulence in the face of poverty and subjugation - one that everyone he knew seemed content with since they all benefited in some way from it. 

His parents always told him he should be grateful. Give thanks and praise to God in heaven that he happened to be born on the "right" side. He was fortunate. He should take pleasure in everything because very few were blessed with birthright and status and comfort. 

They were not pleased when he asked why good life should be a privilege? Why should he ignore those who were starving? Those who had no home, no money, no health, and no fortune were everywhere. It was so difficult to look away from those who were hungry and sick and haunted. 

He'd taken it for granted when he was younger that his parents and tutors hadn't lied to him when they said such things befell people who deserved it. They had sinned in some way and brought it upon themselves. He'd believed it until he was eleven years old. 

There was a small girl with long red hair and a ragged green dress he always saw wandering the streets alone. She was covered in filth and grime and had to be no more than six or seven, but she was always smiling and darting through crowds. He'd been walking with his mother early one December morning, when he saw the red and green girl crumpled in the street. She was cold. Frozen. Pale. Not breathing and not living, and there was nothing anyone said that convinced him her death and sad, short life had been deserved. She was too young and too happy, and it wasn't right. 

Enjolras never truly trusted his parents again. He despised the events they dressed him up and made him attend with them. Even at 13, he was well bred and educated and it was long overdue for him to practice proper etiquette at social events. 

After several instances where he spent the evening "embarrassing himself and their family" by loudly, insistently arguing that those in power treat those who have no power terribly and cruelly, he was reprimanded and told to discuss appropriate topics, remain silent, or suffer the consequences. 

He stashed a book under his jacket the next time he was forced to go out in public with his parents, and sat a corner by himself reading until his mother found him and dumped his book into the large fireplace. 

When they returned home, his father struck him across the face for being insubordinate and rude. Sheer injustice and betrayal and anger flooded Enjolras. Parties were boring and no one liked to talk with him anyway and he hadn't been disruptive or loud, and tears spilled over his cheeks. His father had slapped him again for crying and told him not to be so womanly. 

They punished him by cutting off his long hair while he was sleeping. Instead of falling to the middle of his back - like a girl, his father always said with disgust - it barely covered the back of his neck. 

If there was anything that made him want to run away forever, it was the loss of autonomy. He retaliated by refusing to wear anything but dresses until they swore they'd never, ever touch his hair again. His father was disgusted and his mother was horrified, and Enjolras heard them wondering every night how they could have been burdened with such a troublesome child. 

He never wanted them to know, he never did let them know, but it hurt that they were so disappointed and sickened by him. He didn't mean to be such a disgrace. He always studied hard and received full marks. He was an excellent sharpshooter and strategist. He'd always been good at reading people and finding their strengths, even if they never liked his company. 

He tried sometimes to be what his parents wanted. He tried being proper and well behaved and gentlemanly. He tried politely conversing with his parents' friends and relatives, but they were so incredibly frustrating. They would misinterpret texts and refuse to see what was actually written. They would never acknowledge faults in the government or that there were ways to help the less fortunate. And it made Enjolras so furious that no one cared or paid attention. 

He overheard his parents discussing the idea of sending him far away to some special school or even to a monastery where he would become devout and respectful. By the time he turned 15, they were discussing betrothal and arranging a marriage so he'd turn into a strong provider who was outspoken for the right ideals. Which honestly made no sense to him since they were always displeased and annoyed when he spoke out about anything. Marriage wouldn't change his values or opinions no matter how much they prayed for it to do so. 

In any case, the thought of being bound to some woman for the rest of his life was extremely unsettling. He might even go so far as to say repulsive because forcing himself into a personal, possibly intimate relationship with someone he didn't have affection for, and would likely never have affection for, sounded painful and gut wrenching and wretched. 

What if she expected him to be a father? How could he possibly engage in a sexual relationship he had no interest in? What if she were like his parents and expected him to be traditional and conventional? What if she made him cut his hair and be things that he was not because that was how things were supposed to be? What if she were kind and accepting, and he still never managed to love her? 

What if he could never have love?

Considering he was not thrilled about the idea of being in love with a woman, he wasn't sure how he would ever have love anyway. Maybe he could have platonic, brotherly love from a friend or two. But he'd have to make a friend first. 

The point wasn't relevant though it hurt nonetheless. What if he never found anyone who really loved him? His teachers sometimes seemed to appreciate him, but remained formal and distant. His parents say they love him, but he doesn't feel it. Not from them. Not from anyone. Most of the time, he could convince himself that he doesn't want or need that sort of care or warmth or friendliness. It wasn't as if he's had a relationship that truly provided any sort of love. He shouldn't be able to know the difference between having it or not. 

Still, once they brought up marriage, Enjolras gave in and did everything he could to be subdued and idyllic. He knew when he had lost. 

He tried speaking to others around his age, always temperate and innocuous, but no one ever agreed with him even a little. No one understood what he tried to moderately explain to them. Most of the young men only wanted to discuss sexual matters or physical characteristics of females -- all of which was wholly and completely unappealing. What was the point in reproduction if people everywhere were starving and homeless and everyone always turned a blind eye to it? More people certainly didn't need to exist, and women had never captivated him or merited a glance. He didn't understand why the others were so fixated with having a woman or bedding a woman or any of it. 

Enjolras kept to himself and tried to remain unobtrusive. Every once in a while, a young woman would approach him and request he dance with her or she'd remark about him looking sad or angry or bored, and he'd have to spew excuses and stay completely out of sight the rest of the evening. 

When he slipped away this time to a quiet space where he wouldn't be bothered, he found a library. He desperately wanted to stay and browse all the books and read, but the last time he'd been reading at a party, it did not end well. He sat instead in a large chair and gazed longingly at all the texts. 

It made a vast, all encompassing ache bleed through his chest. He had no one to talk with. He had no one who wanted him around. He wasn't allowed to act as he wished or voice his opinions. It hurt and it grew until he couldn't breathe. His eyes became wet and it made his face wet and he tried to make it stop, but he felt too much and thought too much. There was nothing fair or just and his parents always told him he should be happy, but there was nothing happy. 

His mother and father at least seemed concerned when he fell into absolute silence. They wouldn't listen to him, no one wanted to listen to him, so there really wasn't a point in speaking. His father bought him a new rifle and his mother bought him a green coat. They even attempted to engage him in conversations about his schooling. His answers were either nonverbal or single words, and they lectured him about being contrary and ill-mannered. He went to his room and cried silent, inoffensive tears so no one would know or grow angry with him. 

His history instructor seemed to notice the next day when Enjolras didn't want to ask questions or debate topics, but failing an examination drove it home. He had no excuse. He couldn't even reason it out in his head. If Enjolras couldn't excel in a school lesson, then what was he good for? His teacher decided they needed some air and a change of pace, so he walked with the older man downtown into the city that was full of people and energy and life. 

"It'll renew your enthusiasm," his tutor said. "Some things look bleak, it's true. But there's hope even in the darkest places. There's always something that will renew your faith and your fire."

Enjolras doubted it because there was so much wrong and so much missing. He felt empty and frustrated. Suffocated. But they stopped outside a café where there was a large group of people gathered. Most looked not much older than Enjolras. They were likely in their early twenties at most. One you man in a scarlet waistcoat leapt onto a wooden crate in front of the crowd and they cheered for him. Enjolras glanced around as if he could learn why and what was going on by reading their expressions. He did once the young man started speaking. 

His voice was strong, mellifluous, and impassioned. He spoke of justice and equality - freedom for the people, freedom for France. He raged about those who were poor and forgotten, discarded and enslaved by the monarchy. He talked of the future and change and how they all could make it happen. The people could make the world better. He grinned, shook dark curls out of his eyes, and Enjolras' heart skipped. It started beating again. Something to renew his faith. Something that made his chest feel heavy and his stomach turn fluttery. 

The young man in red cheered with the crowd and raised both fists in the air before jumping down. He skirted the edge of the people gathered and Enjolras had to follow. He had to even if he wasn't sure what he would do after that. 

Perhaps he wished to meet the man. What would he even say? That he agreed with his rhetoric? That he's always felt the same but no one would listen or wanted to hear? It wasn't likely that anyone would care or want to listen now, but he had to try. This was his best chance. 

Enjolras bid goodbye to and left his teacher, then hurried through the dispersing people. The young man with the wild dark curly hair was gone. No sign of him or anyone in that gorgeous shade of scarlet. Enjolras turned and looked every direction, thankful he was tall and could see over most people, but there was still no sign of the speaker. 

Enjolras tried not to be disappointed. The man still existed somewhere and Enjolras could return to this square and find him another day. He stopped near the door to the café just as the young man stepped outside, and dark, enthralling eyes met his. 

Enjolras' heart instantly began pounding. The man may not have been handsome by most people's standards, but Enjolras couldn't look away. There was something in his eyes and the way he smiled. It made everything inside Enjolras feel flimsy and gooey and ineffectual. He couldn't imagine looking at anyone else and thinking them more beautiful. 

The young man seemed to regard Enjolras carefully as he pressed a bottle to his lips. "Were you in the crowd just now?"

Enjolras swallowed and tried to remember that he was articulate or at least capable of speech. "Yes. It was… I've not met anyone who speaks of the things that you do."

"That's unfortunate. But lucky for me, I guess." The man's gaze trailed down and up Enjolras' body, and Enjolras shivered. "Would you like to have a drink with me?"

Enjolras had never cared for wine or any liquor, but answered with an unequivocal, "Yes."

The man smiled brighter and motioned for Enjolras to follow. "I'm Grantaire. Or R, whichever you prefer."

Enjolras stepped toward him and was amazed when his legs actually kept him upright. They felt rather gelatinous. "Which do you prefer?"

"Either. Call me anything and I will probably answer." Grantaire stared and it only made Enjolras' heart beat faster.

He followed Grantaire into the café and worked on remembering how to smile. It had been so long, but for this, he would make it happen.


End file.
